La Vie en Rose
by thebarefootflapper
Summary: "We're Tom and Sybil... like Torvill and Dean, Sonny and Cher or Fred and Ginger. All great double acts... just like us." Tom and Sybil grew up together and there has always been something between them. Now in their 20s, they have come close a few times but things keep getting in the way and both try to pretend they are better off friends. Valentine's Fic Exchange for Ducky82.


**_So this is my contribution to the SxT Valentines fic exchange. Written for Ducky82 who asked: Tom and Sybil grew up together and there has always been something between them. Now in their 20s, they have come close a few times but things keep getting in the way and both try to pretend they are better off friends. Current problem is Larry who Sybil is currently dating. Tom tries to hide his dislike and pretend he likes him for Sybil's sake but he is finding it difficult. Almost as difficult as hiding the fact he is in love with her. You wanted a little bit of angst and we all know that angst is probably what I do best, but I hope you enjoy it :) x_**

* * *

_C'est toi pour moi, moi pour lui dans la vie. Il me l'a dit, l'a juré pour la vie_/**_It's him for me, me for him in life. He said that to me, swore to me forever._**

It all started when she was fifteen, during one of those many summers she'd spent at the idyllic cottage by the sea on Ireland's east coast. As his mother would say, Tom and Sybil had known each other since she was "knee high to a grasshopper" and even in the very earliest of days, it was clear that their friendship was something incredibly special. He was three years older than her and just beginning his gap year whilst deciding exactly what he wanted to do with his life - depending on his exam results, there was a place open for him studying Politics, Philosophy and Law at King's College in London but, despite all his hard work, Tom was still unsure whether or not it was what he really wanted.

"Be honest with me," Sybil says from her usual spot, perched on top of the work bench in the garage as she watches him work on his car - a little blue Renault that had seen better days he'd picked up for a couple of hundred Euros - tossing an apple between her hands. "Is your mum the reason why you're thinking of staying?"

Tom sighs - he hates it when she asks him to be honest with her because she's probably the only person in this entire world that he can be just that with. "She needs me, Syb. She can't lose anyone else."

"But she's not losing you and she won't be on her own. This is such a wonderful opportunity for you... would your dad have wanted you to give up on your dreams?"

"No."

"No... then is that not your answer?"

He shakes his head and pretends to concentrate on choosing the right size of spanner. "You don't understand... you couldn't possibly understand," he tells her. "I know that sounds harsh but..."

"You're right," Sybil concedes. "You're right; I couldn't possibly understand... my father's still alive."

Tom's father had passed away little over a year ago from a massive and completely unexpected heart attack. Ted Branson had always been an active man - strong as an ox and healthy as a horse - and nobody could quite believe what had happened. Almost everyone in this tiny little village had attended his funeral and even the Crawley's had travelled over from England a couple of weeks earlier than planned to pay their respects to a man who had always been so welcoming and hospitable whenever they'd come to visit. Sybil had never been to a funeral before and she'd decided that one was more than enough and vowed never to attend another for as long as she lived (the next rather morbid thought being that, by that logic, the next she'd go to would be her own). She'd only met Tom's three older brothers a handful of times and his sister Órlaith was still only little so she couldn't really tell how much their father's loss had affected them but, in all the years that she'd known him, Sybil couldn't recall a time when she'd seen Tom looking so remarkably... unlike Tom. He looked so sad and broken, as if a part of him had died that day too, and she hadn't known what to say or do to make it better. In the end, she'd settled for smuggling some cake out of the house and following him outside where they'd sat on the beach until the sun went down, talking about their fondest memories of Ted and how big a part he'd played in both their lives.

"And, I mean, what would you do? You can't possibly be satisfied to stay here tinkering away at an engine."

Tom raises an eyebrow at her and smirks in that boyish way of his that lets her know he's getting back to his old self. "I don't tinker, I... expertly repair. But, once she's up and running, I'm going to drive the old girl across Europe and do a bit of soul searching. Terribly clichéd I know, but Da and I used to plan out imaginary trips using my grandmother's old atlas... I think I owe it to him to at least give this a try."

Sybil can't help but smile at the way he speaks with such passion in his voice. "I think it's a wonderful idea."

"Come with me," he says, seemingly out of the blue.

"What?"

"You heard me. Come with me... come and see the world."

"Papa would never let me."

"I don't mean right now, let's at least wait until you finish school next summer. Your old man trusts me, doesn't he?"

"Perhaps, though I can't imagine so much when he finds out about this."

Tom waves an oily hand dismissively. "Separate rooms all the way, I promise."

"We'll need money and a plan. A proper plan with maps and everything."

Tom grins at her. "So it's not an outright no then?"

Sybil rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "It's a 'we'll see'... so, no, not an outright no." She jumps down off the workbench and saunters over to the unchartered territory at the back of the Bransons' old garage. Boxes upon boxes covered in numerous decades of dust are piled high and have been something which has piqued Sybil's curiosity for several years now. "You still haven't answered my question," she says as she begins to open one of the old and battered suitcases. "Are you staying because of... oh my God!"

Tom drops the spanner he's holding and rushes to her side in something of a blind panic. "Are you alright?" he asks, thinking that she's hurt.

She looks up at him with the brightest smile on her face. "I'm fine... but have you seen this stuff? It's incredible!"

Tom peers over her shoulder - the case she's been rifling through are packed with old records, photographs and letters written in an elegant hand. "Once or twice," he replies, reaching out to pick up one of the records - Glenn Miller's 'In the Mood'. "They belonged to my grandparents. They had something of an extraordinary love affair."

Sybil laughs. "You make it sound so scandalous."

"It was... for the time at least. Cross-class, cross-nationality and, perhaps worst of all, cross-religion. So many people disapproved at first, but they had each other and that was really all that mattered. Oh and really good taste in music."

"You like this sort of stuff."

"It's a guilty pleasure," he replies a little bashfully.

"If something's a pleasure then it shouldn't be guilty," says Sybil. "You know, come to think of it, I can just see you in that era, all suited and booted down the local dancehall with a girl on each arm and a dozen more queuing up behind."

Tom chuckles. "I highly doubt that," he replies. "I'm not much of a dancer, but maybe you don't have to imagine it... here." He hands her the photograph he's been looking at.

"Is this..."  
"My grandfather."

"You look just like him. Uncannily so."

He nods in agreement. "So I've been told. He died when I was quite young but, from what I remember, he was a decent bloke."

"Then you're more like him than you know."

There's something that passes between them then - something unspoken and indescribable...

A spark that will only begin to burn brighter in years to come.

"I... umm... I think there's something to play this on around here somewhere," he finally says after a moment or two. Sure enough, he soon finds an old record player and accidently makes Sybil start coughing and spluttering as he blows off the dust. "Sorry."

"It's fine," she wheezes. "Good job I'm not asthmatic... do you think it'll work?"

"I don't see why not," Tom replies. "Come on, let's give it a go."

A little bit of tweaking and some tinkering later, the first of Tom and Sybil's many love affairs begins - their love affair with the sounds of a bygone era.

**_-xxx-_**

They never make it to Paris.

Or to Rome.

Or any further than the M62 for that matter.

Their dreams of Europe had been crushed when the economy hit a downward spiral, neither of them unable to hold jobs long enough to be able to save enough to find their big adventure. Tom had eventually taken up his place at Kings, graduating with a 2:2 and narrowly missing out on a place studying for the graduate diploma in law. Once again, he was completely lost and unsure of what to do with his future. Sybil, on the other hand, seemed to have it all worked out. She was a talented artist and had found something of a passion for the subject whilst studying for her A Levels. It seemed a natural choice for her to stay on at college an extra year and get her foundation degree whilst applying for the likes of The Slade, Glasgow and all the other top art schools that the country had to offer. Since that summer she'd fallen in love with Glenn Miller, the Crawleys hadn't been to Ireland very much and even then Tom was usually still in London. She's missed him something terrible and she can barely contain her excitement when he and his family accept the invitation to attend Mary's wedding during the spring of the year she turned nineteen.

He finds her out on the patio, overlooking the rose garden that has been decorated to look like something straight out of a fairytale in celebration of her sister's nuptials and, not for the first time that day, pauses to admire just how beautiful she has become. He's always thought of Sybil as being pretty, but now there's just something about her - something different - that makes her look absolutely stunning tonight.

"Smile," he teases, handing her a glass of champagne. "You're at a wedding, not a funeral."

"If I hear one more person tell me that it'll be my turn next, I'll scream."

"Stranger things have happened."

"Don't you start."

She doesn't even notice that he can't seem to take his eyes off her, though Sybil has never really been one to notice subtlety. "So... how have you been?" he finally asks.

"Alright, I suppose," she replies. "Busy, what with my final projects due in soon and uni applications. I'm enjoying it though and that's the main thing. What about you?"  
"Still trying to figure out what to do with my life."

"You're only twenty-three. You have plenty of time to figure that out."

"Try telling that to my mother. I'm thinking about going back home."

"But what will you do?"

Tom shrugs. "I haven't quite figured that out yet, but enough about the future... let's just live for now." He sets down his glass on the wall and holds out his hands. "Dance with me."

Sybil raises her eyebrows in surprise as she takes a long drink of her champagne. "What?"

"You heard me."

"But I thought you said you couldn't dance."

He steps towards her and takes the glass from her and sets it down next to his own. "With you, I can do anything."

She blushes prettily and steps into him, one hand in his and the other coming to rest upon his shoulder. He holds her close, tenderly and intimately as one would a lover and, to the unsuspecting passerby, in such a way that they could easily be mistaken for the happy couple celebrating their wedding day. He doesn't really care for the song much - some overplayed chart topper that's been hailed as this year's great love song - but how can he care when she's here with him like this? His feelings for her are confused at best - she's Sybil, the girl he grew up with and one of his oldest and dearest friends whom, by rights, he shouldn't see as anything more than a sister. Then again, she's truly blossomed in the years since he last saw her and in place of that sweet young girl is a headstrong and beautiful woman ready to take on the world.

"I've missed you," says Sybil quietly. "My summers haven't quite been the same without you."

"I'm sure they were grand."

"Not really, no. Nice, but boring."

Tom sighs. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"That we never went on our adventure."

Sybil laughs. "We have plenty of time for adventures." She looks up at him then, straight into his eyes like she had done in the garage all those years ago - she'd felt something then too, only, this time, whatever it is is much stronger and consumes her entire body. "Every day with you is an adventure."

It was inevitable that it would come to this, really and he keeps his gaze fixed on her until the last possible second, watching as her eyelids flutter closed and she leans in towards him, full lips slightly parted in an incredibly alluring way...

"Sybil!" a voice calls from somewhere behind them. "Sybil! Come on, she's going to throw the bouquet!"

Sybil turns sharply, tearing herself away from Tom to see her sister's best friend, Anna, standing in the doorway and beckoning her to follow.

"One second," she says and Anna, sensing that she's interrupted something, steps back inside. "I should probably go," she tells Tom. "I have to at least try to be a good bridesmaid."

Tom nods in understanding. "Duty calls," he agrees. "Oh and, by the way, you look beautiful."

She smiles shyly, never knowing quite how to react to compliments. Both of them know that this is far from over and that there will be the need to talk about what almost just happened...

Just not yet.

**_-xxx-_**

Sybil lies awake some hours later, tossing and turning and unable to sleep. She'd barely seen Tom for much of the rest of the evening and thoughts of their almost kiss keep playing on her mind. He couldn't possibly fancy her - she was Sybil, the girl with messy hair and permanently paint stained jeans, who wore odd socks with holes in the toes and who couldn't seem to get her mouth and brain to cooperate when she'd had a drink or two. Boys didn't fancy her. Boys didn't dance with her in rose gardens and tell her that she was beautiful.

But, then again, Tom wasn't a boy.

Tom was very much a man.

In a final, decisive moment, she kicks back the duvet and decides that she has to go and see him. She has to know what he'd meant by it - if it had even meant anything at all - and where it is that she stands. It's only as she approaches his bedroom that she realises the absurdity of this plan. It's almost four in the morning, the entire house is asleep and so too is he most likely to be.

But then she hears it, that unmistakable voice of Édith Piaf singing '_La Vie en Rose_'.

She taps gently on the door before letting herself in. He's sitting up in bed, wearing his glasses and reading (she didn't even know that he wore glasses).

"Are you alright?" he asks with concern, a little surprised to see her.

"Fine," she replies. "Sorry... I shouldn't have just barged in like that."

Tom sets down his book and takes of his glasses as she moves to sit on the edge of the bed beside him. "Couldn't sleep?"

"No."

"Me neither," he replies. "Look, Sybil, about..."

"What am I to you, Tom?" she interrupts. "What do I mean to you?"

"I love you." The words are out of his mouth before he can even think about them and he almost regrets them when he sees the stunned look on her face. "I do, I love you... I just don't know if I'm in love with you. There's a difference."

Sybil nods in understanding. "I know there is... but I just don't know what love feels like."

He takes her hand in his, their fingers entwining and fitting together so perfectly like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. "It feels a lot like this," he tells her, leaning close like he had done earlier out in the garden.

"Yes, you can kiss me," she replies before biting her lip shyly. "Though, Tom, I don't know how."

He furrows his brow in confusion. "Don't know how to what?"

"Nobody's ever kissed me before... what do I do?"

He brings his hand up to her face, caressing her cheek with his thumb and brushes his nose against hers. "Don't think," he replies. "Trust your instinct... trust me."

"Always."

She still can't put a name to that fire in her belly, the one that burns brightest when he kisses her and makes her feel as though she's flying. Her first kiss is everything she hoped it would be and yet nothing like she had ever imagined. The next thing she knows, she's lying back against the pillows with Tom half on top of her as they lose themselves in each other, his hand snaking up across her hip, her stomach and to just below her breast before he remembers himself and the little (and rather important) titbit of information that she'd just shared with him.

Sybil despairs at the loss of contact when he pulls away from her and hangs his head almost as if he's ashamed of something. "Did I do something wrong?" she asks.

He looks up at her, saddened that she could ever think that she'd disappointed him. "No," he replies, reaching out to tuck a strand of her hair that's come loose from her messy bun back behind her ear. "God, no. It's just... I was getting ahead of myself."

"I wouldn't have minded," she replies bashfully.

Tom chuckles and kisses her forehead as he pulls her into a tight embrace. "One step at a time, love."

"At least let me stay here."

He nods and pulls back the covers, the pair of them crawling underneath and Sybil immediately moving to cuddle up against Tom's chest as he reaches over to switch off the lamp. "One day, will listen to Edith Piaf whilst driving through Paris."

"Maybe we'll be on our honeymoon."

Sybil laughs. "So much for one step at a time," she says. "Besides, you're not even in love with me."

"Touché," he chuckles, even though he's not even certain that he believes his earlier words now - if his feelings for his dearest friend had been complicated at the start of the evening then God only knows what this is. "Though, it might not be Paris, but I suppose we'll always have Downton."

"We'll always have Downton," she repeats. "It's not quite Humphrey Bogart, but it's you... so I suppose that'll have to do."

And so begins the second of Tom and Sybil's love affairs - their love affair with the simple pleasure of sleeping side-by-side.

**_-xxx-_**

Fate, it seemed, had something of a thing for taking both Sybil and Tom down two completely different paths that could not have been more different. He did indeed go back to Ireland, studying for a Masters degree in Journalism at Dublin City University and working his way through the ranks of a small, local newspaper making it to the coveted position of editor in just a few short years. The readers adored his witty and insightful way with words and he had a talent that hadn't gone unnoticed by some of the major national publications. It meant taking a step down when Tom left Ireland for London once more to work as a political reporter for The Guardian, but the money was good and it felt like the right time for him to go. He was financially stable at last, doing a job he adored in a thriving a beautiful city...

Though if one more person asked him when he was going to find himself a nice girl and settle down he would actually scream.

The only really nice girl he knew wasn't even on the same continent any more, let alone in the same city. Sybil had rather unexpectedly been accepted to Yale University, having applied at the suggestion of her wealthy American grandmother who had rather generously agreed to pay for her tuition fees. It was her way, she had said, of giving her granddaughters their inheritance whilst she was still around to see them enjoy it - she'd paid for Mary's wedding, to help Edith start up her own business and now to see Sybil through University. The day Sybil had told Tom that she would be leaving, he'd rather romantically asked her if she wanted him to wait for her, to remain true to her until she graduated and decided what she wanted to do with her life.

"You'll do no such thing, Tom Branson," she'd said. "You've been putting your life on hold for people for as long as I've known you but I won't let you do the same for me. Go out there and live... and if a girl comes along and you marry her or have a baby together then so be it, you'll always be my best friend. But, if when I come back, we're both still very much as we are now then we'll see."

That had been almost four years ago.

They'd seen each other a handful of times since then, the spark still there between them but neither wanting to give in to temptation and forgetting the promise they'd made when she left. It would overcomplicate things and a long distance relationship wouldn't do either of them any good.

Things changed, of course, the day that Tom met Emma.

**_-xxx-_**

Over the years, Tom had struck up a very good friendship with Mary and her husband, Matthew. Of course, the instructions to look after him and make sure that he was doing alright had come from Sybil, but Tom was oddly grateful for it. Despite their very different upbringings, he and Matthew had an awful lot in common and had even ended up playing on the same local rugby team (which Mary hated, especially when her husband would come home from matches with cuts and bruises all over his usually handsome face).

"You're still coming on Friday, right?" Matthew asks as they change after training. "I know Mary would hate it if you weren't there."

Tom sighs - his friends are having a housewarming party and have invited almost everyone that they know. "If I have to."

"Yes, you do have to," Matthew replies, flinging a ball of socks in his direction. "I'll only get it in the neck if you don't. Besides, there's someone I want you to meet."

**_-xxx-_**

Sybil ruffles her hair as she checks her reflection one last time in the mirror. Having landed safe and sound just a few days earlier, she's decided that tonight is as good a night as any to surprise her best friend with a long overdue catch-up. Her phone buzzes, alerting her to the fact that the taxi is waiting outside, and she grabs the now ice-cold bottle of Moet from the fridge and heads for the door. Just as she's about to leave, she quickly sprints back into her bedroom and retrieves a condom from the draw of her bedside table - she knows she's probably getting ahead of herself, but it can't hurt to be prepared just in case.

As the cab pulls up to Tom's building, she hands the driver a ten pound note and tells him to keep the change. Her heart is racing and she doesn't think she can blame the cold for the fact that she's shivering. She's missed him so much and they have an awful lot to catch up on - she can't believe how well he's doing for himself and she's rather proud of him. She remembers getting the edition of the Guardian with his first article in and had shown it to anyone who would listen and tell them that he was her best friend.

Taking a deep breath, Sybil buzzes the door to his flat, though is more than just a little bit stunned to find a pretty blonde wearing a man's shirt and boxers on the other side of the door.

"Oh, I thought you were delivering the food," she laughs. "Umm, can I help?."

Over this stranger's shoulder, Sybil catches a glimpse of Tom in the background, wearing nothing but a pair of low slung striped pyjama bottoms and drying off his damp hair with a towel. "Who is it, love?"

"Love"? He called her that once.

"It's err..."

"Sorry," says Sybil. "I think I've got the wrong flat. I think it was an eight and not a six... can't read my own writing sometimes. Sorry to disturb you, have a nice evening."

Before the woman can say anything, Sybil is half way back to the lift, very nearly breaking the vow of a lifetime and crying in public.

It's raining heavily when she steps outside, rather apt considering her current mood she thinks. She rummages in her bag for her phone, hands shaking as she searches for the number for the taxi.

"Sybil?"

She knows that voice.

"Sybil, is that you?"

Wiping her eyes, she looks up to see a familiar face - one that she never thought could possibly bring her comfort until this moment. "Larry?"

"Are you alright."

"No, not really... It's a long story, but I just want to go home."

"Won't get a cab this time of night," says Larry. "Come on, I don't live that far away. Dry off a bit and then I'll drive you back."

She smiles back at him in thanks. "Are you sure?"

"What kind of man would I be if I just walked away and left you? Come on, you'll feel better once you've had a cup of tea or something."

"I need something stronger than tea."

"I'm sure that can be arranged."

-xxx-

She cries almost all the way home - Larry doesn't push her though, he's known Sybil long enough to know that she isn't one to talk about her feelings unless she absolutely has to and even then only when she's ready.

"Thank you," she says as he stops the car outside of her parent's Belgravia townhouse. "You saved me the money on the Tube."

"Need to get an Oyster Card if you're sticking around," he replies. "Are you sticking around?"

Sybil shrugs. "Don't know. Might be."

"Well, if you are, would you like to have dinner with me some time?" he asks. "I don't mean anything by it, just two friends having a catch up."

Sybil smiles. "I'd like that."

"Good," Larry says. "I'll find you on Facebook. Just let me know whenever you're free and we can sort something out."

"Sounds good... thank you."

"Oh and, by the way," he adds as she gets out of the car. "You look lovely."

"I'm a crying mess."

"You still look lovely."

Sybil laughs a little awkwardly. "Goodnight, Larry."

"Goodnight, Sybil."

**_-xxx-_**

"Sybil, darling, what are you wearing?"

"It's a onesie," she replies dulcetly. "I wore it to a fancy dress party."

"But it's got a tail."

"It's a dinosaur onesie."

"Obviously."

It's been almost a week since Sybil had been to Tom's and she's been moping ever since. It's Sunday and the whole Crawley family have come together for one of their monthly family meals cooked by their father. Sybil, however, has locked herself in her bedroom and refuses to come out, prompting both Mary and Edith to stage something of an intervention.

"Have you got dressed at all this weekend?" asks Edith.

"No."

"Have you got dressed at all this week?

"Of course I have," she retorts. "I'm not a tramp."

Mary arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Well you're beginning to smell like one," her sister says. "Now, come on, go and have a shower, put some clothes on and we'll talk."

Clean and slightly resembling a human, Sybil sits cross legged on her bed and tells her sisters everything, starting from the pact they'd made when she'd left for Yale and ending with the scantily clad woman in his flat several nights earlier.

She flops down against the cushions, failing miserably at trying to hold back her tears. "I haven't resented an Irishman for screwing people this much since the last time I flew on Ryanair," she wails. "Look at me, I'm a fucking mess."

"Do you think that the reason this has hurt you so much is because you love him?"

"Of course I love him, it's Tom, he's my best friend."

Edith shakes her head. "No, I mean do you think you might be in love with him."

Sybil sits up then and wipes her nose on her sleeve - a very unladylike habit she thought she'd left behind with her childhood. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Is it though? Is it ridiculous?"

Sybil's jaw drops.

"Oh my God," she says quietly and to nobody in particular. "I'm in love with Tom."

"By Jove," Edith replies. "She's got it."

"I don't see why he didn't tell you about Emma though."

Sybil sits up rather abruptly and glares at her sister. "Emma? You knew about her?"

Mary sighs and rubs soothing circles across her belly - she's into her sixth month of pregnancy and she adores the feeling of her baby moving beneath her skin, this little life that she and Matthew have created together is nothing short of a miracle really. "They met at our housewarming party and she's a solicitor at the same firm Matthew works for. There just didn't seem to be the right time to mention it," she says. "Besides, I've been a little bit preoccupied."

"But you still let me go round to his house knowing that he had a girlfriend?"

"I didn't know you were going, did I?"

Sensing an argument brewing, Edith steps in to take the focus away from Mary for a moment. "But I thought you said you didn't want him to wait?"

"I know," replies Sybil sadly. "But a part of me hoped that he would... so I suppose I've brought this on myself."

"Don't say that," Edith says. "Yes, perhaps you could have been honest with him earlier, but you haven't brought this upon yourself."

Sybil sniffs. "When did you become so wise?"

"Since I stopped moping around over men who broke my heart."

Sybil laughs and even Mary manages to crack a smile. "Well, not that it matters," she tells them. "I'm having dinner with Larry Grey next week."

"You're doing **what**?" a rather stunned Mary asks.

"I'm having dinner with Larry Grey next week," Sybil repeats. "We saw each other a fair bit when I was in New York. We thought it would be nice to catch up and have a chat."

Her sisters exchange a look. "Well, if you're sure," Mary says. "Though just be careful that this isn't some ill-advised rebound thing."

Sybil rolls her eyes. "A man and a woman **can** go out to dinner without it meaning anything you know," she says. She has no idea why she's getting so defensive over this, she and Larry are just friends.

Well...

At least that's how it all starts.

**_-xxx-_**

Weeks and months go by, the seasons change and soon enough almost a year has gone by. Sybil and Tom have managed to maintain a close friendship and Sybil has decided that she rather likes Emma - she's nice and she makes her friend happy so she can't really ask for more than that. Her own relationship with Larry is going strong and the pair of them have officially been together for just over six months. Tom hasn't really met him much, what with him having spent much of this time out in Brussels covering goings on in the EU, but he's back now and the two friends have agreed to meet for lunch at one of their favourite central London restaurants.

"They want me to write a series of articles about the effects of the recession and the coalition government on Joe Public," he says as they discuss his work. "Only thing is, I haven't got a clue what to write about."

"How about how it's affected the twenty-somethings of today compared to how our parents fared when they were our age. You could write about us," says, picking up a piece of sushi with her chopsticks.

"Us?"

"Why not? We're Tom and Sybil... like Torvill and Dean, Sonny and Cher or Fred and Ginger. All great double acts... just like us. People love a good double act."

Tom smiles. "Just like us," he replies. "I've missed you, Syb."

"I've missed you too... although there is something I need to tell you."

"You're pregnant," he teases.

Sybil bites her lip. "Not quite... though I suppose that would be the next logical step," she replies. "I'm getting married."

"Wow... that's... that's great," he stutters. "Congratulations."

Sybil smiles - she looks absolutely radiant with this newfound happiness. "Thank you," she says. "Though there is one other thing... will you be my best man?"

Now that certainly does take him by surprise. "Best man? I thought girls had a maid of honour or whatever?"

Sybil shrugs. "Perhaps, but my wedding just wouldn't be the same if you weren't part of it and I didn't think you'd appreciate that title."

"I don't think I'd look good in the frock either."

"Definitely not," Sybil giggles. "You haven't got the legs for it."

"I'd love to," he replies. "And I really am happy for you ."

"I'm glad," she smiles. "Oh and I've also decided what I want to do with my life... I want to teach."

"Because those who can, do, and those who can't, teach," he teases, earning him a playful dig in the arm from Sybil (who was surprised to find her fist coming into contact with solid muscle that most definitely hadn't been there the last time she saw him). "I'm joking, I'm joking," he continues. "I think you'll be a wonderful teacher."  
"You think so? I just thought that, if I can inspire people to love art and to nurture their talents, that's probably a valuable use of my time."

Tom raises his glass. "To us," he says. "And to finally becoming grown-ups."

"To finally becoming grown-ups."

**_-xxx-_**

Tom is sitting up in bed, scribbling some notes down for his latest article when Emma emerges from the bathroom. He's been spending a lot of time at her flat lately and he's half expecting her to ask him to move in with him - he won't be the first to suggest it though as he's not entirely sure that they're ready to take that step just yet.

"How was Sybil?" she asks, crawling into bed beside him.

"Grand," he replies. "She's getting married."

Emma raises her eyebrows. "That was... quick."

Tom nods in agreement as he puts down his notebook. "Perhaps, but they've known each other for years."

"And what about us?" she asks quietly. "Where do we stand?"

"What do you mean?"

She shuffles closer to him and looks him straight in the eyes. "I've been thinking... about us and our relationship. I want us to have a baby."

That's not what he was expecting.

"Um... okay," he says."What's brought this on?"

Emma shrugs. "I don't know... I just... it just feels right."

"Love, we couldn't afford a baby," he says. "Financially we probably could, but that's not everything. I know how much you love your job and how hard you've worked to get to where you are, but we wouldn't have the time to devote to a baby. I've always said that I'd want to be a major part in the upbringing of any children that I might one day have and I don't think we're in a position to do that right now. I think this is something we need to have a serious conversation about and weigh up our options."

"So it's not a complete no?"

"No, it's just a not yet."

"And it's got nothing to do with the fact that you're still in love with Sybil?"

"I'm not... I never have been. Yes, I love her, but it's only natural seeing as how she's my dearest friend and as much a part of my family as my own brothers and sister. The fact that I'm not ready to have a baby yet has nothing to do with that."

Emma rolls over and turns off the light before pulling the duvet up over her shoulders. "Right, fine," she says coldly. "That's all I wanted to know."

"Em..."

"Goodnight, Tom."

**_-xxx-_**

Sybil and Larry's wedding, in true Crawley family style, is set to be a lavish affair with almost half of Yorkshire invited to celebrate the couple's nuptials. Sybil hadn't been sure that she wanted it at first, but she'd soon got swept up in the whole process of planning a wedding and her creative streak seemed to be running away with her. One particular afternoon, she's taken her mother, sisters and Tom into York for the final fitting on her dress followed by afternoon tea. Tom stands back a bit, watching Sybil and her sisters giggle over champagne as they try on the various tiaras and hats out on display whilst waiting for the seamstress to return with her dress. She looks different, more polished and refined - a look befitting the future wife of a city banker and heir to a rather substantial fortune. She's still Sybil, but she seems to have lost something that he can't quite put his finger on. She catches his eye and excuses herself for a moment, moving to join him by the window.

"You're very quiet," she says. "I know this isn't your thing, but thank you for coming. You really didn't have to."

"Of course I did," he says. "I'm being the best best man there's ever been."

"That you are," Sybil agrees. "Though, come on, talk."  
"I don't want it to ruin your day."  
She puts a hand on his arm and looks at him with nothing but concern in her eyes. "It won't ruin my day. But if you're sad then I'm sad too so, come on, spill."

He swirls the untouched champagne around his glass and sighs. "Emma and I broke up," he tells her.

"Oh, Tom... I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he says. "It was all very amicable... we just want different things at different times. It was best to end it now."

Before she can say anything, Cora appears at her daughter's side and the moment has passed. "Darling, the dress is ready."

"Oh, erm, yeah, okay," she flusters. "We'll talk later."

"Have you seen it yet?" Tom asks, trying to make small talk.

Cora shakes her head. "No, this is one thing she's been quite secretive about," she tells him. The bridal party had visited dress shops and designers in various cities across England but Sybil had been unable to find that perfect dress - it was only when she was passing this particular shop in York on the off chance and happened to glance in through the window that she had seen it. It was completely different to everything she had been looking at previously, having always thought that she'd want something simple and minimalist, but the gossamer Grecian gown with its embellished waist and asymmetric neckline was simple only in the sense that it was simply stunning.

"Is it too much?" she asks as she steps out of the changing room.

Her sisters begin to fuss and Tom's jaw drops at the sight of her. "It's perfect," he says. "Gorgeous."

The look on his face and the fact that he quickly sees off the rest of his champagne doesn't go unnoticed by Cora. "You know," she says quietly. "I always thought that the day I saw Sybil in a wedding dress would be the day that she married you."

"Yeah," he agrees. "Yeah, so did I."

**_-xxx-_**

As tradition dictates, the night before the wedding sees a grand soiree hosted by Sybil's parents consisting of a three course meal for family and close friends before a party lasting until around midnight which sees various other guests also in attendance. The bride-to-be is an absolute ray of sunshine, her smile and her laughter infectious as works the room. Her groom though is somewhat possessive, not really liking to let her out of her sight for any real period of time. In her euphoria though, she seems oblivious and welcomes his affectionate hugs and stolen kisses.

All of this is observed through the eyes of a writer relegated to wallflower as he contemplates the thought that he could be watching his dearest friend make the biggest mistake of her life. On the few occasions that he's met Larry, Tom has thought him to be a pretty decent bloke but tonight he's noticed a change. He's invited to step outside for a smoke with some of the other men and he feels that he might as well lest he come across as being rude or antisocial. He's trying to quit but one can't hurt he supposes.

Finishing off his drink, he excuses himself from Matthew's company (Mary having gone upstairs to check on newborn baby George) and heads out into the garden, pausing in the shadows as he hears the raucous laughter of Larry Grey and his merry men.

"Of course, **these** aren't the only assets I'm interested in," says Larry, bringing his hands to his chest in a rather crude gesture. "There's about a million more sitting in a bank account ready for daddy dearest to snuff it."

"So, you don't love her then?"

Larry shakes his head. "I didn't say that. Nice girl and decent looking, especially now that she's scrubbed up a bit. I'm incredibly fond of her, though father says the love will come in time."

"Bastard," Tom mutters to himself. He thinks of Sybil and how blissfully happy she is, but now that he knows Larry's true motivation behind marrying her, he's conflicted as to whether or not to tell her.

**_-xxx-_**

"You've been avoiding me," Sybil says, shutting the library door behind her.

"No I haven't," replies Tom, flicking through several Spotify playlists on his iPod. "You just seemed happy doing your thing."

"My thing?"

"Mingling," he says. "You're very good at it."

Sybil laughs as she pours them both a glass of whisky. "That might be so, but my feet are bloody killing me."

Tom gratefully accepts the glass from her. "Don't stand on ceremony for my sake," he says. "Take of your shoes."

With a cheeky smile, she pulls up the hem of her dress to reveal two bare feet. "One step ahead of you."

"So," says Tom after a moment or two of contemplative silence. "Can I have one last dance with you as a single woman?"

Sybil nods. "Of course. Though you do know it's the best man's duty to dance with the bride too?"

"You're making this up."

"Probably," she shrugs. "Though, it's my wedding, surely I can do whatever I want?"

That's when he knows he has to tell her.

"Come on, dance with me," he says, getting to his feet. "We have to talk."

"Sounds serious," she replies as she steps into his arms. "You're not dying are you?"

Tom shakes his head. "No, I don't think so... but I might do if I have to watch you marry a complete prig who's been lying to you this whole time."

Sybil pulls back and looks at him in confusion. "What?"

"It's not real, Syb," he says. "None of it is. He doesn't love you... he's marrying you for your money."

"That's absurd. Larry has plenty of his own money."

"I heard it, right from the horse's mouth."

"You're mistaken, you have to be."

"So you refuse to believe me?"

"Yes."

Tom shakes his head. "Then thank you for confirming my worst fears... I've always known that the day you stop trusting me is the day I lose you forever. I don't think I understand who you are anymore. I could handle this whole Stepford Wife look you're taking on because you're still you, but now I'm not so sure... you're not my Sybil anymore."

She holds her head high defiantly. "No, Tom, I've never been **your** Sybil," she says. "Maybe I could have been, but that's all in the past now."

"I love you."

"I know, but you're not **in** love with me," she replies. "You've made that clear time and time again."

"No, I am... I'm completely in love with you and I think I have been for longer than I knew."

Sybil's eyes are swimming with unshed tears but she refuses to break eye contact with him. "And yet you choose to tell me the night before my wedding? That's low, Tom, that's really low..."

"When else was I going to tell you?"

"I don't know, just any day but today would have been infinitely better. Or were you going to stand up in the middle of the church when the vicar asked if anyone had any objections?"

"No... I might not have even told you."

"So what changed?"

"I thought you were going to be happy. You're absolutely glowing, Sybil, and you've never looked more beautiful than when you're in love. But it's all based on a lie... at least I'm telling you the truth."

"I'm marrying Larry tomorrow, Tom," she tells him quietly. "Nothing you can say can change my mind."

He drops her hands and steps away from her. "You're right, I can't change your mind," he says. "And I suppose you're a big girl now, you can look after yourself."

"Just don't come crying to you when the shit hits the fan, is that it?"

"You said it, not me. Now, considering you're getting married tomorrow, I'll let you get some sleep. I'll be gone by morning..."

"Tom, don't go... Tom!"

He slams the door behind him, leaving Sybil alone in the wake of the storm, Billie Holiday's '_You've Changed_' playing from somewhere behind her. His words had hurt more than if a thousand knives had been plunged into her heart.

"Oh, Tom," she sighs. "What have I done?"

**_-xxx-_**

There's a lump in Robert Crawley's throat as he watches his youngest daughter descend the stairs, looking an absolute vision and every inch a bride.

"Sybil, my darling girl," he says, taking both of her hands in his. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you, Papa."

"Where's Tom? Should he not have left with Mary and Edith?"

Sybil looks down at the carpet sadly. "He's not coming... we had an argument. A big one."

"Can you fix it?"

Sybil shakes her head. "At least not right now."

"Tell me everything."

She looks up at her father and toys with the bracelet around her wrist. "We haven't got time."

"We have all the time in the world, Robert says."This should be the happiest day of your life and if you're upset about this then you can't truly enjoy yourself."

Sybil's lip quivers. "Oh, Papa," she says, her head falling against his chest. "I've made such a mess of things."

"I'm going to ask you one question and one question only," her father says, holding his girl close as she cries. "Are you in love with Tom Branson?"

She pulls back from him and nods. "Yes," she says, surprising herself by laughing. "Truly, madly and irrevocably."

"Then why on earth are you marrying a fortune hunter who merely appreciates you as opposed to a good and kind man who has adored you for years?"

"You... you know about Larry?"

Robert nods. "He's a Merton so, naturally, I've had my suspicions," he says. "But I had rather hoped the boy would break the mould."

"And how long have you known?"

"All of thirty seconds. The look on your face told me everything."

"And what should I do about it?"

Robert brings a hand to his daughter's face and brushes away a tear with his thumb. "Oh, my dear, you haven't needed me to tell you what to do since you were a little girl and even then you rarely listened to me."

Sybil laughs tearfully, suddenly looking up sharply as she hears a familiar melody drifting in from the ballroom. The band are rehearsing and she knows that song from the first few bars alone.

"La Vie en Rose," she says quietly to herself. "I'm sorry, Papa, I won't be getting married today... I've got a train to catch."

**_-xxx-_**

The village is deserted, all of its inhabitants no doubt having found some way to celebrate the wedding of the youngest daughter of the lord of the manor. The half-past-eleven back to York is delayed, leaving Tom alone on the station platform with none but his thoughts for company. He sighs wearily and stares blankly into the distance, trying not to think about what is happening just down the road.

"Excuse me," a woman calls out from somewhere. "Has the York train gone yet?"

Tom looks over his shoulder and slowly gets to his feet. "No, it's late."

"That's good," the woman says. "I would hate to have missed it."

"What are you doing here, Sybil?"

"I would have thought that to be obvious."

Tom sighs and runs a hand though his hair. "Shouldn't you be getting married?"

Sybil nods. "I should be, yes. But I'm not."

"Why?"

She steps towards him, wringing her hands nervously and unable to meet his gaze. "Because I'm not marrying the right man. To use Papa's exact words, why would I marry a fortune hunter who merely appreciates me as opposed to a good and kind man who has adored me for years? Sounds rather silly, doesn't it?"

"Just a bit. Sybil..."

She silences him by pressing an elegantly manicured finger to his lips. "Don't say anything," she says. "Please... Oh, Tom, I'm so sorry. For the way I behaved last night, for not being completely honest with you about how I really feel, for everything really."

"And how do you feel about me?"

"I love you. I love you more than anything but I'd understand if you didn't..."

This time, he's the one to silence her but with a kiss so passionate it almost knocks her off her feet. "Oh, my darling," he says, holding her face in his hands as they pull apart. "I do love you so much."

And so, at last, Tom and Sybil's next great love affair begins - their love affair with each other.

**_-xxx-_**

**Two Years Later**

She props her head up on her elbow, staring out of the window and watches the world go by as she hums along to Juliet Greco's 'Sous le Ciel de Paris'. Even in the rain, Paris is the most beautiful city she's ever seen and her heart races with excitement at the thought of finally being able to explore it.

"Well, we're here," Tom says, bringing the car to a stop. "Worth the wait?"

"Absolutely," she smiles. "And I couldn't think of anyone else I'd rather be here with. Though, why have we stopped outside the Ritz?"

Tom looks at her as though the answer is obvious. "You didn't think we were going to sleep in the car, did you."

"Oh, you didn't?"

"Oh I did," he replies. "It's taken us all these years to get here and we're not penniless students anymore, we may as well do it properly."

"But... where are you going to put the car?"

"Valet parking."

"You can't give them this hunk of junk," she says, referring to Tom's beloved blue Renault.

Tom pretends to be offended and strokes a hand across the steering wheel. "Stop that, you'll hurt her feelings."

Sybil sighs. "You know, sometimes, I think you love this car more than you love me."

"There's absolutely no competition," he says. "I'd choose you every time."

"Goodness, what a complement."

He laughs as he climbs out of the car, handing over the keys before taking Sybil's hand in his own and walking through the doors into a little piece of paradise.

"Ahh, bonsoir, Madame et Monsieur," the immaculately groomed gentleman behind the reception desk says. "How can I help you?"

"Mr and Mrs Branson," says Tom, retrieving his wallet from his pocket. "We're here on our honeymoon..."


End file.
